


Goodbye Yellow Brick Road [Summer]

by nothingbutfic



Series: A love for all seasons. [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, MWPP-era, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 23:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13111161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutfic/pseuds/nothingbutfic
Summary: June, 1978. Even the best of friends have the worst of fights. Part 2 of A Love for all Seasons, Summer.





	Goodbye Yellow Brick Road [Summer]

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Jess for the beta and the inspiration. Apologies for the delay in continuing this series.

“This is absolutely useless and I’m far too _intelligent_ to need it,” Sirius told them with more than a hint of a pout, and then slammed the cover of his textbook shut with a bang that made the dust in the room rise, scattering the afternoon light that poured in through a high, barred window.

_Oh, bloody hell,_ thought Remus.

James looked at Remus first, with a raised eyebrow and a nod to Sirius as if to say ‘Look, do something.’ Both of Remus’ eyebrows crawled up into his auburn hair at the very thought of doing something, and he shook his head just a smidgen.

_This is not my problem, Prongs, this is your sodding problem_. Trouble was, as Remus knew, Sirius was either something they all managed, or he was very definitely a problem.

Peter coughed at all the dust, then that turned into sneezes as he futilely waved it away. Remus’ own rather acute nostrils were flaring at the dust, but he’d managed not to become a wheezing mess, so clapped Peter on the back until he got over it, and offered him the water bottle so he could take a sip and wet his throat. It was the least he could do: Peter had always trailed behind in their wake, ever watchful, ever cautious. It was good one of them was, really.

Sirius could do to learn a few things from Peter, Remus thought, and sniffed.

Finding little sympathy from Remus’ direction, James turned to look at one of his best friends, his arms on the table a bit beseeching with his own text open between them. “We have got to _study_ , Pads,” he suggested. “N.E.W.T.S. are coming up.”

“N.E.W.T.S.,” Sirius dragged out the word from the back of his throat and made it sound vile. He was always a bit melodramatic. “I could do them in my sleep. So could you. And Moony here inhales books so he’ll be fine, and we can just help Peter keep up, that’d be more fun than this.”

“The form of the thing is important, Pads,” James reminded him. “And we can’t leave anything to chance, can we Moony?” 

Remus entered into the conversation now that Peter seemed alright, and that James’ non-verbal entreaties could no longer be easily denied. Sirius Orion Black normally took the three of them to handle, although Peter also felt left out all too easily. It was why they came up with a standard seating arrangement, to be used whenever they could: James on one side with Sirius, keeping him in check, and Remus on the other side with Peter, bucking him up.

But it was a long hot day in a long hot summer, and the usual arrangement wasn’t working so well. All of them were tired, cranky, fed up, having spent weeks staring at parchments and copying out scrolls again and again and practicing spells until their wands felt heavy in their hands.

“No, we can’t, Prongs. Look, Pads, you’re easily the cleverest, so maybe you should explain it to all of us?” Remus went for an appeal to Sirius’ vanity, because that normally worked well.

Instead, Sirius swept his arm across the table, dashing his text and notes and quills and ink to the floor.

They all looked at the mess for a while. Remus pressed his lips together, before pulling out his wand to tidy it up with a murmur.

Once it was clean, he just looked at Sirius, and drew in a breath through his nose.

Seeing the steel rising in Remus’ eyes, James let out a chuckle, and the other two joined him, in a low, mocking “ohhhhhhh.”

“You’re in for it now, Pads, you’ve woken the wolf!” James exclaimed. “Lashings a speciality, particularly when you mess things up. Right, Moony?”

“It’s not funny, Prongs,” Remus said, only half-bothering. He was used to it by now, and then reflected on how he _shouldn't_ be.

“Well it _should_ be,” Sirius said. “You’re a bloody werewolf, Moony. I’m a genius, as you say, Prongs is almost as smart as me and everyone loves his family, and Peter has us as friends. If anyone is going to be waved through the N.E.W.T.S and given an A for sheer _talent_ , it’s going to be us.”

Remus sighed. You could take the wizard out of Kensington, and fit him into leather pants and make him listen to punk, but Sirius would always coast through life with a certain privilege. It was probably what gave him the freedom to rebel in the first place. “Could you say it a little bit louder, please, Sirius, I don’t think they heard you in the dungeons.”

“Ooo-oooh,” chipped in James and Peter in high, falsetto voices, all but spoiling for the argument. Remus stuck his tongue out at the pair of them.

“Nonsense, Moony, window’s barred,” Sirius gestured to it, “door’s locked,” he slung an arm in the door’s general direction, “and we’re stuck up Gryffindor Tower higher than Evans’ tits.”

James clocked him up the back of the head for that.

“Ow,” exclaimed Sirius, and rubbed his head. “This is how genius is received, I s’pose.”

“Oh, stop it, you big baby.” Remus felt no pity for him, but a fair amount of concern. “That’s supposed to be secret, this is supposed to be secret, we’re supposed to be _secret people_.”

“And we are!” Sirius said, expansively. “The only person who knows is Snape and he’ll never tell.”

“Yes, because you terrified him, and you used _me_ to do it.”

“Sounds like Moony here has a soft spot for Snape!” James cat-called, laughing, and Peter joined in with the falsetto “ooooh!”

They really were a pack of children, Remus harrumphed.

Rather than join in, Sirius’ eyes went flinty, and he snarled, hands on the table, almost like he was ready to leap over it, snarling. “You wouldn’t, Moony, you wouldn’t, that greasy-haired, hook-nosed freak-“

“Steady on,” James told him, placing his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “It was only a lark. You used to like larks, remember, Pads?”

Sirius brought his gaze around to meet James’, jaw stiff, mouth unyielding. “Only when I’m the one making them. You tell bad jokes,” and he shrugged James’ hand off.

“Just…cool it, Pads,” Remus told him. “I know you’re bored, I know you’re annoyed, I know you’re hot, we’re all hot, but try to keep a lid on it. Half the school would put us all in Azkaban if they even heard a whisper of what we’ve done.”

“Oh, I’m not ending up in Azkaban for you, Moony,” Sirius waved the concern away, returned to something of his normal careless mood, even if his eyes were a little hurt and focussed.

“I’d rather you not end up in Azkaban for anyone, you loon,” Remus told him, and they shared a brief smile. Remus reached across and took Sirius’ hand and squeezed it, and peace was restored, at least for a moment.

“Back to studying, then?” James’ voice had a slightly desperate quality to it, as if beseeching gods and Padfoot for some quiet.

“I don’t see why we had to study here,” Sirius muttered, but he had his book open again in front of him, even if he was flicking through the pages in a rather petulant way.

“ _Because_ ,” James said, heavily. They all knew that answering Sirius just prompted more questions.

All any seventh year could think about was how they’d soon be gone from the castle, and yet that carried with it no small measure of worry. Beyond the safety of Hogwarts, a war was going on. A war they were part of, however furtive.

But before they could leave, they had to finish; and so in the halls, in disused rooms and dingy corridors, in dungeons and towers and gardens, students actually studied. How they managed was the topic of some discussion by both Ravenclaws (intellectually curious) and Hufflepuffs (concerned for everyone’s well-being), but amongst the gossip and the low-level fear, the students of Hogwarts kept their minds inside the grounds, focused on the everyday rituals of finishing yet another school year as if it was just another school year. Sometimes huddled together in twos or threes or fours, sometimes solitary, with books open and wands unsheathed, and most with sweat rolling from the brow, down the back, and collecting under the collar.

Remus found it made him want to scratch, annoyingly. It jangled his nerves and made him want to bear teeth and howl his discontent at his pack, simply because they should have known better, but never did. Instead he was, as always, the One To Know Better, and forced the urge down and maintained a pleasant mien and tried not to think about grabbing Sirius by the scruff with his teeth and shaking him until he shut the bloody hell up.

In truth, none of them had particularly wanted to study _there_ : but because the group tended to leave things to the last minute, this stuffy, dusty, disused chamber near the top of Gryffindor Tower had been the best of a bunch of bad choices.

And so they returned to study, because there was nothing for it. A half hour passed, if not exactly comfortably then relatively quietly, with Remus occasionally leading Peter through their notes in small, reassuring murmurs. Peter didn’t need the help, really, but he _thought_ he needed the help. James was methodical, tapping his quill against the ink well and furrowing his brow as if study was just another Quidditch game that needed strategising, and Sirius, well. Sirius tossed and turned in his chair as if he could wriggle away from the text he was reading until Remus gave him a swift kick under the table.

He then pouted and shot Remus the most hurt look, but Remus resisted all feelings of pity or kindness, and there was some level of focus in the room, if not exactly peace and quiet. Sometimes being a werewolf helped, Remus thought; he could pretend that human empathy was beyond him. He didn’t have to care about Padfoot’s pouting, even if it made his housemate look disgustingly attractive. But then, most things did: Sirius had that sort of way about him.

Remus was halfway through explaining the three potential causes of the Goblin-Giant conflicts of the 1630s to Peter when he heard what sounded like a shoe drop. The others hadn’t noticed it, but then his senses had always been more acute than most. He was about to shrug it off, but then a foot very clearly brushed against his ankle, sock gliding against sock to push up his trouser leg.

The offending foot, and the offending leg it was connected to, climbed higher, pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Remus’ nostrils flared: he could smell the arousal, spiked and musky, pooling somewhere in the young man’s crotch, coming off Sirius in waves. He certainly didn't look like he was about to give someone a foot job during a study session: certainly, he was slumped a little in his chair, but Sirius was always slumped a little in his chair, no matter the chair, the venue, the time, or the occasion. His elegant, long fingers were calmly holding his notes as if mildly bored, hair having fallen forward over one side of his face, just adding to the pose of languid ennui.

Remus didn’t buy that pose. He never bought that pose. _You utter fuck_ , he thought, and stared at Sirius as if he could make him stop.

He utterly failed to make him stop. Instead that foot ended up in his lap, heel against the swell of his dick under his trousers, and Remus cleared his throat suddenly.

“You alright, Moony?” Peter had been the first to notice his study partner was distracted, but James was the first to say something.

“Just the heat,” Remus told him, and managed a wan smile, after clearing his throat.

“Plus it’s nearly his time of the month,” Sirius chipped in, all false innocence. “Not surprising he’s a bit under the weather.”

“Thank you, yes, I am a delicate fl-“ Sirius’ foot pressed against his crotch, “- _flower_.” Remus made the word sound like it had about two syllables too many.

Remus ignored the looks he was getting from Peter and James. He ignored the growing flush creeping up his neck. He even tried to ignore the small rubbing motions Sirius was making against his crotch.

“I’m _bored,_ ” Sirius told them all, after a pause. “There’s so many more interesting things I could be doing. So many more interesting _people_ I could be doing,” he announced, somewhere between sulky and offhand, to a chorus of groans.

“You look all flushed, mate,” James offered, ignoring Sirius entirely. Never a foolproof option, of course, but sometimes the only feasible option.

Remus cleared his throat again, and tried to take in a breath of air that didn’t feel heavy, stale and fetid. It was bad enough being trapped in a tower room: it was worse that he had werewolf senses. This close to the full moon they were heightened: just another thing about his body that was out of his control. In the mornings he was grumpy and stiff, and by the evenings he was grumpy and manic, skin too tight, bones on edge, teeth sharp. “Maybe I just need a _break_ ,” he offered, although his words were more for Sirius than anyone else.

That foot started massaging his crotch.

Remus set his mouth against a groan, and his jaw went stiff from the effort of holding it in, grinding his molars against one another.

“Well, we can stop soon enough,” James offered, which didn’t help at all.

“Yeah, I do have a date tonight,” Sirius announced, and licked his lips.

“You have a date every night,” Remus ground out.

“I can’t help being loved, Moony. And I am so very loved.”

“You think for one evening you could not rut like an animal?”

“It’s Marlene McKinnon,” Sirius told them all with a grin, and leaned back in his chair. That foot only stopped for a second. “She’s _amazing_.”

“Yes, well -“ Remus started, and had to bite his lip for a second. “I really don’t think-“

“Thinking?” Sirius drawled, “you should probably save that for studying, Moony. Not being jealous of my sex life.”

“I doubt any of us are jealous of your sex life, Pads, we’re just all sick of hearing about it,” James chipped in.

“Speak for yourself,” Peter muttered, “I’d love ten seconds with Marlene McKinnon.”

“Ten seconds would be about all she needed before you popped like a champagne bottle,” Sirius told him, and just before Sirius made him come in his school trousers, Remus pushed the chair back with a scraping sound and stood, taut, fingers steepled against the worn old wood of the table.

“Right,” Remus said firmly, eyeing all three of them. There was more than a hint of a growl in his voice, and everyone stared.

“We are taking a break. It’s three days from the full moon, we’ve been cooped up in this sauna for two hours and I really wish I could cut my _bloody_ nose off. Peter, you stink of anxiety and fear because you always worry about every test and you never need to. Sirius, I can probably guess what you want to do with Marlene McKinnon and I did not need to know. And James, you just smell like your everyday 17 year old bloke who’s in desperate need of a shower. Now I,” Remus swept around the table, using every inch of his height as he moved towards the door like it was an escape hatch, “am going to take ten minutes. And you, Pads, are coming with me.”

He looked over his shoulder to see that Sirius appeared poleaxed and James had one eyebrow raised. Peter was just observing quietly, because that was Peter’s thing.

“I am?”

“He is?” That was James.

“You know what he’s like, Prongs,” Remus told James, and ignored Sirius entirely. “He’s already complaining about being bored - if we pushed on till dinner he’d end up by making the table dance for a laugh, or something else ludicrous.”

James took a good few moments to hold Remus’ gaze, and then nodded. “Right then. Take the dog for a walk. Try not to lose him,” he cautioned, as Remus opened the door and gestured for Sirius to leave first.

“Oh, if only I could,” Remus snorted, and gave a dejected Sirius a little shove out the door, before James closed it behind them and bolted it, just in case any younger students came prying.

“Moony-” Sirius started.

“Don’t,” Remus told him. He kept his eyes on the steps in front of him, and was irrationally angry when he realised that Sirius had managed to slip his shoe back on. He certainly was one smooth bloke, that was for sure. He’d probably done similar things to all sorts of students, under tables, or between the bookshelves, or tucked away in an alcove.

Images of Sirius Black in all states of undress, panting as he fucked conquest after conquest, surged through Remus’ mind. The scent of Sirius’ arousal, and the awareness of his own febrile mood coupled to spike the moment with his sour anger. He didn’t say a further word until they were out of the Tower and under a tree, Remus placing a hand on the thick trunk for support as he took in a deep breath. 

Outside, it was still hot, a hotter summer than usual, but it lacked the closeness and oppression of the Tower. He felt he could breathe.

“What did you ever think you were doing?” Remus asked after a few moments of just inhaling in through his nose and out through his mouth, and he knew he sounded plaintive and near-desperate.

Sirius for his part, looked a bit like a first year that had been caught stealing a biscuit, but that turned to a moody, defiant nonchalance. “I was bored, like I said.”

“You know, most people don’t initiate sex when they’re bored.”

“Yeah, well, I ‘initiate sex’ as a general rule. Don’t want to deprive anyone of the privilege, Moony.”

“I’ve noticed,” Remus shot back, and glared. “You’re quite happy to spread the privilege around.” It was lucky Sirius didn't give them all some sort of venereal disease.

“Some people don’t have a stick up their backsides about it. I don’t see why you’re so upset; you’re an amazing practice snog, Moony. You should get out more.”

Remus let out a bark of laughter: “Thank you, it’s the real crowning achievement of my time at Hogwarts.” He paused: “Are you really going on another date tonight?”

“My loins are never satisfied, you know that,” Sirius said suggestively, and wiggled his eyebrows. “Besides, I like Marlene, I really do.”

“You liked the last one, that Ravenclaw boy,” Remus pointed out, and moved towards him a little. 

“Made the most gorgeous whimpering sound,” Sirius agreed.

“And his ex-girlfriend before that.”

“Both of them had really good taste, besides liking me of course.”

“And that Quidditch scout who came to school.”

“Fucked him in the Three Broomsticks. Lovely arse. Definitely taught me a thing or two, but that’s the appeal of older men.”

“And I know there’s been at least three older women.” Remus was close now, close enough to breathe him in, to kiss his jaw, to nuzzle at his hair.

Sirius offered him a radiant grin. “I can’t stop being this gorgeous, can I?”

“My point is that you like all of them. A week or two, at most, and then you’re onto the next one. How many of them have cried because of you, Pads? How many hearts have you broken?”

Even as Remus’ hands moved almost by themselves to smooth down Sirius’ lapels, back over his shoulders, to stroke and comfort his frame, Sirius only looked briefly stricken: “…They understand, Moony. Everyone knows, I’m not the sort that gets tied down. And that’s what makes Marlene so wonderful. She’s exactly the same as me.”

Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was anger or resentment or arousal, but Remus’ grip on Sirius’ body tightened for a second, and then he pushed him up against the trunk of the tree. “Oh, really. How many times have you fucked her, to get such intimate knowledge, hmm?”

“Six times in two days.” Sirius threw him a grin.

“You’re terrible,” Remus said clinically, and leaned in to suck hard at Sirius’ neck. 

“She’d never - ohhh - she’d never expect anything more than joyous, carefree shagging,” Sirius told him, grabbing at his arse while Remus worked at his neck to leave a very significant love bite.

“So good that she’s so understanding,” Remus murmured darkly, and moved his mouth down a little, marking Sirius further even as the heel of his hand pressed against Sirius’ crotch. “God, you might actually come in your pants from this, you strumpet.”

“Was wondering if I’d be able to do that to you before, but you’re such a control freak,” Sirius said, and smelled and sounded gleefully triumphant.

It was like being doused in a bucket of cold water. Control freak. Exactly what he should be, not…not this, whatever this was. Tormenting himself with something he couldn’t have, and possibly insulting poor Marlene McKinnon in the process. “…Sorry,” he said dully, and pulled away to rub the back of his hand over his mouth. His eyes were drawn to the series of love bites he’d planted all across one side of Sirius’ neck: they’d blossom into bruises later, purple and gorgeous.

Remus’ cock pulsed in his trousers at the thought, and he felt vaguely sick with himself.

“Moony, what-“

“I’m sorry,” Remus repeated, and he knew his voice sounded like ashes. His face probably looked the same, and realising he didn’t want to upset his friend, he managed to reach out and squeeze Sirius’ hand. “…I shouldn’t take liberties. You’re carefree, right? Footloose? No one gets to mark you.”

There was a curiously hurt expression in Sirius’ eyes that Remus couldn’t understand, and the other Gryffindor pulled his hand away. “….I guess no one does.”

In part to reassure himself, Remus snaked a wiry arm along Sirius’ shoulders, and brought him in to kiss his hair. “You’ll have an amazing date. You generally do. Don’t mind me being a sourpuss.”

“I know you’re not being a sourpuss,” Sirius muttered.

“I _am_ being a sourpuss.”

“No, you’re being ludicrously prudish and a stick in the mud, that’s something different,” Sirius teased back and there was enough of a faint smile there to make Remus feel that things were alright again.

“Free love was last decade, Pads, you missed your chance.”

“Haven’t you heard about key parties? We could do wand parties, you know.”

After a significant look, Remus clipped him upside the back of the head, and they went back up the Tower. Remus took the lead, his arm stretched out behind him, fingers not quite touching.

 

***

 

Latter, Remus was curled up on the couch, enjoying a good book. Unlike some of his peers (Sirius), he actually bothered to read; unlike some of his peers (James), he actually enjoyed it; unlike some (Peter), it wasn’t a struggle. 

Peter could read perfectly well: it was simply that he approached a book as he approached everything, with a mix of anxiety, dread and fear. Wormtail took in the reading for class with a certain quiet resignation, like facing a death sentence, something that must be borne. He was always so utterly convinced that there was something he would miss, mistake, fail, that he sometimes failed to see that he was actually reasonably clever.

As for Padfoot, well, Remus was beginning to wonder if Sirius was dyslexic or something. It would explain the furrowed brow and lack of concentration when he ever tried to read anything, not that he needed to read anything. No, out of the four of them, Peter and Remus were the readers. Both of them clung to knowledge like it was a life raft.

And as for James, well, he was— was standing right there. “Shove over,” James said agreeably, and slapped his thigh.

Remus looked up at him, eyebrow raised, and debated internally whether it would be worth one small, foolish clarion call of defiance. Crammed into a life with three other young men for seven years had taken its toll, and sometimes he wished he had more patience to spend on himself.

_Not tonight_ , he thought, and clapped his book shut, taking note of the page, and rolled smoothly onto his side. The book ended up tucked under a couch cushion. James settled on the middle of the couch, couch frame creaking a little under his weight. He clapped a hand high on Remus’ back, companionable, but hard enough to force a bit of the breath from Remus’ lungs, before his fingers curled around the nape of his neck, and squeezed for a second.

Straight blokes really were a weird lot, Remus observed, not for the first time. Still, he was used to James’ occasional dominance plays. As they’d all gotten older, and James had straightened himself out (no pun intended), Remus had noticed his friend observing the way things worked amongst them that little bit more.

They were both a bit ‘top dog’, really. In some ways, it could be useful: Sirius needed (at least) two people to even attempt to handle him, but these days they tended to jostle each other as much as they shared the burden. Some days, simply, the walls were too close, the words too sharp, and both of them had thinner skin than they did when they were younger.

“So,” James started, after a familiar, knowing glance. Remus had taken the glance as written, and murmured a charm under his breath, ensuring their voices wouldn’t carry beyond the couch. He’d come up with the charm, called it the ‘cone of silence’, and been rather annoyed when no one got the joke.

Being half-Muggle sucked sometimes.

The vaguely terrifying thing about keeping their conversations a secret was that it had gotten more plausible throughout their schooling: there were too many stories of wizards not behaving like themselves, people disappearing, and the Dark Mark loomed over town and vale. By seventh year, Hogwarts had become a hotbed of suspicious glances, mistrust and warding charms. They were just another lot of students with secrets to keep to themselves. It was the only time Remus had felt utterly, totally unremarkable, and he’d found it grated on him.

“School’s nearly over,” James continued.

Remus shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“So Pads tells me you two will be moving in together after school?”

“Peter’s not about to manage with him, and I wouldn’t want to ask you and Lily to take on the burden,” Remus smiled, trying for lightness, but he didn't see it in James’ eyes.

“I managed quite fine whenever we had him over for hols,” James pointed out, and his voice was so quiet and so even that most people would have missed the sharp undertone.

“Look, Prongs, _he_ asked _me_ , so why not take it up with him, hmmm?”

“Because I’m asking you, Moony. You’re so _responsible_ , after all.”

“…What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

James’ eyes went to his neck. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “when you two move in together, how often Pads is going to end up with those huge love-bites all across his neck? I wonder, exactly, where those marks will be? Will they be here?” He continued, a finger brushing under Remus’ jaw, drifting up to his ear, “or here?” His finger trailed down the curve of Remus’ ear to dig into his shoulder. “…Maybe even here.”

_You always could be a bully_ , Remus thought somewhere in the back of his mind, coldly furious. The fact that James was right just made him _more_ angry, rather than less.

It really did threaten to be one of those days.

Licking his lips, he didn’t let any of it show. “James, you know as well as I do that Sirius bumped into Marlene during the break and she, uh, went to town.” It was a blatant lie, but then Remus had always been a good liar. Playing innocent had been a necessary skill, for a monster.

James’ eyes met his, and they both acknowledged the lie. James’ hand fell away from Remus’ shoulder. There was a long pause.

“…You remember that summer hols, in sixth year? We skived off and got a room in Brighton.” James’ voice was oddly conversational.

Remus blinked at the change in subject, but the memory didn’t warm him as much as it might have. “I fixed us all up with fake I.D. so we could go drinking.”

“Never been to a gay club before. Or seen men in drag,” James remembered.

Remus snorted. “If you wanted boring, we should have gone to Blackpool.”

James sighed. “You remember we came back to the room, put on some records? You transfigured a couple of sheets into some dresses and you and Pads did drag.”

“I’ve always been a little bit weird,” Remus said, “and Pads has always been a little bit bold.”

“Oh, he was prettier, by far. But you - you sold it better, I guess. I told you how surprised I was at the time, yeah?”

“You did. And I explained that I’ve been acting since I was five years old.”

James’ eyes were hard, his jaw tight. “Not acting, Moony. Lying. You’ve been lying since you were five. You’re lying to me right now and you’re so fucking shameless about it.”

It was interesting, Remus thought absently, that his friends never seemed to imagine he might lie to them. That somehow he wasn’t capable, that he was nothing more and little less than predictable, dependable, stick-in-the-mud responsible Remus John Lupin.

Remus felt oddly pleased by the realisation in James’ words. He had teeth. What did they think, that he wasn’t capable of _using_ them?

“…What do you expect me to do?” Remus wondered, dully. He felt tired, and well past done with it. “Yes, I kissed Padfoot. Sometimes we cuddle in bed. You know how he gets nightmares.”

“…I do. I was the one who held him in first year, and second,” James muttered, “before you know, you’re supposed to stop with that sort of thing.”

“I know our friendship is a bit unorthodox—” Remus started, before he got cut off.

“Does he know you’re in love with him?” James asked, and it was like an accusation. All Remus could do was to stare for a few seconds, lips quirking into something that was almost a frown, or a pout, as if he wasn’t quite sure what emotion to feel.

“….No,” he declared, more convinced of anything than he’d ever been in his life. “No, Prongs, it’s fine, we’re fine, him and me. You know what he’s like, he just doesn’t get that you’re not supposed to snog everyone and flirt with anyone, and he’s just so….he needs so much, Prongs, that’s all.” His voice sounded firm and knowledgable: he could have been explaining a charm. Remus believed what he was saying because he had to.

“…I’m not talking about him,” James said slowly. “I’m talking about you.”

Remus gave a hollow laugh. “I’m fine. I’m always fine.”

“Oh yeah? What about the next time he goes on a date with someone who isn’t you?” James reasoned. “What about when Lily and I visit in a few months, and Sirius is really into having his steak rare because you ended up marking him with a _bite_? Gods, Moony, we’re thinking about having a child, and you can’t even control yourself when you’re human!”

Remus arced away from him, too angry to be hurt. “I know very well what I am,” he told James, in a low, ugly tone. “I take fucking precautions, okay? I don’t go too far.” He would never hurt anyone. He _wouldn't_.

“You needed the three of us,” James countered. “You needed the three of us every month, and before that you needed chains. Now what will you have?”

“I’ll have a _friend_ ,” Remus told him, putting every ounce of lofty, indignant, hurt into his words. “It’s more than I have in this room.” Sirius wasn’t the only one who could play the martyr when it suited him, and it pleased some dark, mean part of him to see the way James reacted.

“I’m just trying to look out for Padfoot—,” James began.

“He can look out for himself, you know. He’s not a child.” Even if he acted like one, frequently.

“He was my friend first,” James said, and looked away. “I should make sure you install the right chains in the apartment, that sort of thing.”

Remus laughed, bitterly, and was more bitterly pleased by how that shocked James and got his attention. _I’m not some kicked whelp_ , he thought, _I’m more than something to be muzzled and chained_. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I flatter myself, do I?”

“Yeah. You’re a rich, well-educated sod, James. You’re heir to a fortune, a Quidditch star, head boy, the sun smiles on you. You were born to flatter yourself and escape the consequences. It’s why you can be such a twat. You and Sirius both.”

“Always nice to hear one of my best friends has such a high opinion of me,” James snapped, looking equal parts angry and wounded.

“I didn’t have a lot of choices in who to be friends with,” Remus said quietly. “…I appreciate what you’ve done for me, James, truly, and I do care about you. I want nothing but the best for you, and for Lily.” Personally speaking Remus thought Lily was too good for him, but now was not the time to share that. “But you’ve always acted like you’re taking pity on some kind of plague carrier.”

“You do have a…a disease, Remus. You always will. We’ve done what we can, but it’s not going away.”

James probably had no idea how patronising he sounded. Remus just looked at him.

“I’m just trying to protect people, you know,” James added, and shrugged, like it was perfectly understandable. It was, of course, perfectly understandable, perfectly reasonable; that didn’t make Remus feel any better about it. People had been chaining him up for very understandable reasons since he was a child.

Remus closed his eyes. “I know.” James would be upstanding and courageous and a complete bloody well-meaning bigot, and he would never, ever change. The Potters and the Blacks weren’t so different, when you scratched the skin.

“…Be a little more careful, alright?” James’ voice was hesitant, his touch on Remus’ knee more gentle. “I think Wormtail knows about you and Pads, as well.”

“Of course he knows. Wormtail sees everything.” Remus was in no mood for reconciliation. “You’re the only blind one around here,” he added, irritably.

“Thank you.”

“….Do you really think you controlled me?” Remus asked, rounding on him, not quite ready to let it go. “You really think that was it? That I was cowed by your brute strength, your predatory instincts?”

James looked a little hurt. Remus felt a little pleased.

“Don’t make me laugh.” Remus took a breath, and then stared intently at James: “You want to know about my disease, Prongs, really want to know? Right then. The three of you, you became a stag, a dog, a rat. The first moon you visited me, you were all still learning how to _walk_. I was _made_ a wolf. I was bitten, and the bite goes deep. You get certain desires. Certain…knowledge. I looked at the three of you, and I knew how I could hunt you, how I could take you all _down_.”

Remus found he was breathing hard. James’ face had gone a tad pale with shock, eyes widening, and Remus was looming close to him in an obscene mockery of intimacy, arm curled around the back of the couch behind James’ shoulders.

“It would have been _easy_ to hunt you, Prongs. You’ve always been overly confident. All I needed to do was stalk you, hamstring one leg, then the other, and you’d be a heap in the snow with your throat all bare to my fangs.” Remus looked right in James’ eyes, and was pleased to see him flinch.

Extricating himself from that parody of closeness, Remus knew something had been broken between them, some trust. But then, he now understood that the trust between them had been on dubious ground for years: James thought he was diseased, he thought Remus was broken, and he thought Remus was grateful. And Remus was grateful, truly: but he was so much more than that, more than his condition, and James had to really accept that. “I know exactly what I am, Prongs. I’m your _friend_. I didn’t hunt you down because I chose to. And I don’t make Padfoot choose between us because I know he’ll always be your first, best friend.”

“Oh, he’s already chosen,” James retorted, the anger bringing colour back to his face.

Remus snorted. “Oh, he’ll choose someone else again next week. You know Pads, he’s always on the move for the next pretty thing.”

James just looked at him. “….I see I’m not the only blind one around here,” he declared, and Remus didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “Well,” he said, awkwardly, after a pause, and stood, dissolving the charm under his breath. They were exposed now, normal. Anyone could hear. “…Do you really think I’m a twat?”

“We’re all twats,” Remus told him, taking his book out from under the cushion and opened it up to the right page. “Seventeen year old boys, James. Comes with the territory.”

“You always talk about people like you’re not one of us,” James observed, crossly. 

Remus’ eyes met James, and he smiled, just a little. “Can’t imagine why that would be.”

“…I don’t have goes at Snape anymore, or practically anyone,” James informed him, changing subjects.

“Yes, you’re not being an utter arse to everyone and hauling them up into trees or dunking them with water when they walk into rooms, good for you,” Remus told him absently, nose already in his book. “You’ve managed the bare minimum required to not be a total shit, Prongs.”

“You really should be a teacher,” James told him, making a face. “You can lecture better than anyone.”

“You all need lecturing more than most, it’s probably why you let me hang around.” They were good again, or as good as they were going to be for a while. “But when they start hiring people like me at Hogwarts, I’ll buy you a pint.”

James chewed on his lip, thinking for a few moments. “I could probably point you in the direction of some people who need a tutor, once we’re all done with school.”

“Looks like I’ll always depend on your charity, hmmm?” The words cut both ways.

“Anyway,” James reached and squeezed his shoulder. “Just think about it. We are all very fond of you, Moony,” he added, and then nodded in parting before shuffling off. “Night.”

“Night.”


End file.
